


Testing Limits

by TelepathJeneral



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Doctor/Patient Relationship, F/M, dub con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-08-11 00:37:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20144656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TelepathJeneral/pseuds/TelepathJeneral
Summary: Talon needs Moira. And now, they've dropped a new plaything in her lap: Subject Sigma. Though mental health isn't exactly her specialty, Moira has work of her own to do with Sigma...and begins to realize what he might offer in return. (A place to collect my SigMoira ideas.)





	1. Chapter 1

It was routine for Sombra to keep herself agile by running through the conduits of data surrounding Talon’s infrastructure. Layers upon layers of intricacy all bled down to simple inputs, lines of information streamed or transmitted from somewhere. She would never be able to crack an Omnic’s mechanics, not the way she could with human programming, but even Omnics worked with programs of human origin, and so she could follow the patterns. Slipping between databases, borrowing clearances to get herself through the next level: it had its own rhythm, its own spark and dance.

She had been occupied, as of late, breaking out the newest recruit, and thus she hadn’t had as much time to explore the data. Talon had scattered, making themselves untraceable, and she’d faded into the background with the rest of them. Moira had taken the patient deep into the recesses of the South America base, just close enough to Sombra’s old hometowns to justify some interest. _The patient_. Sombra sneered, picturing the man with some disdain. Bald, pale, his face all too pointy and angular. Apparently brilliant, once. And now Talon had him.

Well, Moira had him, but through her, Talon had him. ‘Sigma’. An amusing little moniker, though not all that descriptive. Sombra flicked through preliminary reports, amused as always by Moira’s veneer of professionalism. The woman was anything but professional. In that sense, both Moira and Sombra echoed the same approach to their chosen work.

Apparently they’d only gotten the video recordings started more recently. Some Amazonian base, probably, Argentinian, Brazilian, somewhere in there. The routine physicals were hardly exciting, and Sombra could feel Moira’s boredom through the screen. The slog of procedure. But then the feed changed somehow, the camera angled differently, and Moira began her examination with a new energy. Sombra sat forward, perplexed by the woman’s change, and adjusted her setup. If she was going to have the upper hand over this new recruit, she’d have to know _everything_.

++

The machines monitoring Sigma’s status could only do so much. Heart rate, blood pressure, all of this was useful data, but Moira knew that it didn’t actually tell her anything. Not for her kind of work. For her work, she needed even greater precision, even finer control, down to the neurons themselves. A man’s mind, his willpower, tied to his body in ways never before imagined…she smiled as she adjusted the strap holding her subject’s arm against the bed, his body hooked to dozens of sensor pads.

“Sigma.” She said aloud, surprising herself with the echo. This shoddy little lab had been set up so quickly. No time to get anything really useful. The man beneath her fingers jerked at the sound, his voice rising in a whine, and she sighed in disappointment as she turned away. Babbling. He’d babbled since release, his thoughts and his impulses clearly at odds with his intellect. But she wasn’t a psychologist. She didn’t work on these kinds of problems. Still, mind over matter could be reversed, couldn’t it? A healthy body leading to a healthy mind: or an altered body accommodating an altered mind.

“Sigma.” She said again, letting her tone drop slightly. Coaxing. _Warm_. “We’re going to start you with a new round of therapy.” She was never good at this ‘bedside manner’. She tried too hard to get to the point. But Sigma didn’t whine this time, his eyes watching her, and she faced that blank stare for a long moment. He’d understood some things, bits and pieces of her monologues to him. But he’d never spoken in English, only Dutch, occasionally biting his own tongue in frustration.

“It’s astounding, because it really is simple.” She continued, turning back to the monitors before sliding a larger mechanism into place. It locked onto Sigma’s ankles, keeping him pinned, but he didn’t fight her. No, since release, he’d been content to follow. Moira knew she’d be fighting like a wildcat in his position, but hey, who was she to provoke him? “The process mimics the way our bodies develop while we’re children—while we’re fetuses, really, the exceptional growth that occurs while still in the womb. But it can be tricky. We are not fetuses.” She sighed, shaking her head as she aligned another portion over Sigma’s chest. He still tracked her, eyes following, and he opened his mouth to merely sigh as she checked his straps again. He’d gotten stronger since release. They’d been feeding him better.

“The body rejects rapid change. It is possible, yes, but not easy.” She continued speaking as she placed another weight over Sigma’s shoulders, feeling him start to struggle at last. He’d been through examinations with her before, and had never complained specifically about her. Even so, she paused to glance down at the length of his body, placing a hand against his chest to consider the sensation before grinning more broadly. “You _are_ a specimen. It is such a treat to work with good source material.”

She could see the flash of fear in his eyes the moment before the machine whirred to life, a heavy clunk preceding the hum of electricity through the device. Sigma gasped, his body contracting against his restraints as a sudden shock ran through him, and he squirmed without speech as the machinery began to pick up speed.

“We will open another world for you, Sigma.” She promised, reaching up to place a hand against his covered shoulder. “A world of my creation. My things. My beings.” She leaned in, her free hand coming to trace the angle of his jaw. Sharp. Proud. A worthy lineage, certainly—

“Rapid change is the only change worth attempting.” Her voice lowered slightly, growing softer as Sigma’s struggles began to increase. “Nothing _happens_ unless it happens quickly enough. Explosions are important not because they are big, but because they are fast.” Her grin remained plastered in place, her hand now stroking Sigma’s chin. She was leaning against him, resting her body on his as she waited for the machine to do its work, and she was toying with his skin. Cold, cool in the air of the lab, starting to flush with exertion as he grew more agitated.

“_Sigma_.” She tasted the word this time, straightening to see the length of him, bracing herself for the first pulse of therapy. ‘Therapy.’ What a calming word. What a contrast to the actual work she did.

With a hum, the machine pulsed, and she could see the power in Sigma’s body as he tensed. All those muscles, twisting. He was an astronaut, wasn’t he. He’d trained before going into space. She cooed to him, watching him start to twist in her power, and she couldn’t stop smiling. The machine’s pitch spiked on and off, the pulses alternating, and she moved back to clap her hands together as Sigma yelped in pain.

“Oh, yes.” She couldn’t help herself. The process of discovery—of actual _fruition_, of seeing her work come alive—it was so important. She nodded eagerly, watching his face contort, his breaths coming fast and hard. He began to writhe, pulling at his restraints, shouting as the intensity of the machine increased.

“Go on, darling!” She called to him, resisting the urge to reach forward and grab him. God, what a specimen. Broad shouldered, tall, the secrets of the universe trapped in that mind. Well. She’d deal with the mind soon enough. He whimpered beneath her, the yelps and shouts dying out as the machine cycled down, and she leaned close to watch his eyes as the cycle began again.

Sigma strained, his voice high and whining, whimpering as he tried again to pull away. Moira reached out, grasping his chin to make him face her, watching his pupils constrict as his eyelids fluttered. “Beautiful, my sweet.” She cooed to him again, using her free hand to trace over his cheek. He was holding himself still for her, watching even while the pain began to fire through his nerves.

He lunged toward her, his whine catching, and he sank back only as the cycle faded. The rise and fall…she couldn’t overload him all at once. She shook her head, sighing, and glanced down his body to determine if he’d suffered any major damage.

In his state of undress, any changes were easily visible. The guards had brought him and made him undress for her, down to his boxers, but now the fabric was strained and tented. Over the course of a cycle, just a few minutes, Sigma had…

Oh. Moira’s cheeks colored, her pale skin revealing the shift in her attention. Sigma was nearly naked, chained to her table, and sporting a budding erection. Moira nearly backed away, nearly shut down the process entirely, but a twinge of something in her chest prevented her. He’d been…a very good patient. Compliant. Willing. And even if he’d never said anything to her, he’d never attempted to hurt her.

_To hell with it._ He was a ludicrously attractive man, which was her real motivation. The time in captivity hadn’t robbed him of his presence or his power, though his baldness had altered that. She leaned over him on the table, taking stock of his body, listening as he panted and whimpered below her again. The moments of intensity, contrasted with the relief. She began to understand why he’d found it arousing.

“My _darling.” _Moira trailed a hand down Sigma’s bare chest, smiling up at him as he watched her. His eyes were wide, wary, but as she reached the expanse of his abdomen, he groaned and tried to look away, eyelids fluttering again. She tutted softly, leaning heavily against the table, resting one arm beside Sigma while her hand continued to his boxers, then slid beneath.

Sigma jumped again, opening his mouth to babble nonsense, but as Moira grasped the base of his cock, he whined loudly, head pressing back against the table. Unable to resist, Moira lowered her head to the rise of his chest, kissing the center of his chest before moving higher, kissing at his collarbone.

She could feel him between her fingers, hot and thick, ready enough for her attention. She stroked gently, taking the time to find the head, purring at him as his breaths hitched and strained. He moaned for her, another hum from the machine coinciding with a renewed tension in his muscles, and she smiled as he arched. The thrust of his body pushed him into her hand, and she moved further down to uncover his erection and attend to him more fully.

“Not everyone finds the process this exciting.” She teased, focusing her attention on the flushed head. With her intentions more obvious, Sigma could watch her, though any time she tried to catch his eye, he shook with unknown emotion. No matter. She circled the tip of his cock with her thumb, pleased by the way his hips trembled and thrust into her touch, and she finally brought up her other hand to join the first. Pre-cum coated her fingers, tacky and acrid, and she hummed as she worked while Sigma strained and bucked.

“Now. This isn’t going to be part of the file.” She sighed, affecting disappointment. “All this data might be useless. Too many variables, here.” She leaned closer, kissing the soft skin of his belly, hearing him moan loudly with the touch. Well. Pained noises were hardly unusual for her lab. “My poor darling. Sweet man, so quiet and demure—”

Right on cue, Sigma keened loudly, the pain of the therapy process coinciding with one of Sigma’s thrusts. Moira braced herself, leaning directly onto Sigma’s abdomen to feel the heat of his skin, grinning up at him as he tried to hold back.

His face changed entirely as he came onto her hand, his head thrown back in utter abandon, hips lifting off the table to push into her hand. Moira raised herself up again, aware of but unashamed of the flush creeping down onto her chest, and smiled. What a man. What a specimen! Yes, she would need to do so much work with him—but he tried to recover so quickly, each breath a soft moan, his cheek now pressed into the table beneath him as he tried to turn away and hide.

“Sigma. Sigma, my sweet.” Moira paid little attention to the residue on her hand and instead watched him, amused and intrigued. “I am so _impressed _by your work here. Very well done.” She could not keep the amusement from her voice, coy and encouraging. “What a _good boy_.”

She hadn’t quite realized what she was saying, caught up in the rhythm of his own pain and pleasure, but when she spoke, he mewled softly for her, cheeks newly pink in the bright lights. She blinked in surprise, thinking carefully, then raised her clean hand to grasp his chin again. “Sigma. My—yes. Good boy.” Again, he whimpered softly, trying to edge away from her grip but allowing his eyelids to flutter open. Moira met his gaze, caught by the intensity of those eyes, then tore herself away to try and restore herself to some level of calm. She was a scientist. A researcher. She had a job to do.

“Ah.” She turned away, leaving Sigma unkempt and uncovered, and found her laboratory sink to wash her hands. Her flush remained, a true embarrassment brought on by his gaze, and she tried to shove the idea aside as he watched. Somehow, in an instant, their roles had changed: Sigma was now cool and calm, at ease despite his restraints, and she was the one stumbling over her thoughts. She reached up, removing the machine from around him, loosening Sigma’s restraints in order to let him restore himself to order.

She had only begun to move away when he lunged forward, grabbing her wrist, and she immediately tensed for action. But Sigma did not try to attack—instead, he stared into her eyes, seeming to compare the two, matching one to the other, and she waited until he ran both hands into her hair and pulled away. _Was that all? _She found herself disappointed, her flush renewed, and she shook her head as she moved to find the intercom. She’d broken protocol by releasing him early. But she’d already broken protocol by doing…_that_, all of that, in the first place. She shuddered, moving to the intercom, speaking tersely to the guards waiting before trying to think of a next step. Sigma sat on his table, still saying little, moving little, but watching. Always watching.

She felt her gaze pulled to him, eyes sliding over her equipment to find his again. _Damn him. _When the guards arrived, Sigma left quietly, padding through the halls on his bare feet. Finally alone, Moira braced herself on the counter of her laboratory, still fighting the rush that had come over her. What a man. What an _experience_.

It was her responsibility to see to the man’s well-being. She would have every reason to visit him whenever she requested. She could see him again.

She would have her work to do.

++

Sombra sat back from the screen, chewing on a thumbnail in consternation. Well. She’d uncovered her share of blackmail, certainly, but Talon didn’t seem to care much about their own ranks. Moira was…a unique case for them, special in the ranks. And Sigma…they’d entrusted Sigma to Moira’s care. There were dozens of investments being made in this little encounter, and Moira had just…

Or had Sigma…?

Sombra shook her head, clearing the data from her console before leaving the room. She had better things to think about than Moira’s dalliances. Let the kids have fun. She’d do her own work, and wouldn’t interfere with their choices.

Though she would have to think of something clever enough to tease Moira at the next mission debrief…


	2. Chapter 2

The request docket was small, short enough to fit on a single screen. Moira hadn’t read it as closely as perhaps her ‘overseers’ expected, but then again, she had always defined herself first as Moira O’Deorain. She didn’t need to be told how to do her job. And Talon always _assumed_ so much, presumed so much about her duties. Well. She’d glanced at the docket, then proceeded to mostly ignore it. Siebren was her creature, her specimen, almost tailored to her whims.

It had been a month at least of careful work, putting him through his paces, letting the guards escort him to his room, to her lab, and to the gymnasium. He babbled at times, she could hear it over the recordings, but during his therapy, he rarely spoke. He watched, eyes huge and wild, and she refused to give in to the pull. _Gravity_. That was his appeal, wasn’t it, all that power trapped in the hands of a madman. He had started to toy with things, lifting up the exercise equipment before being sedated by a guard, and Moira resented the interruptions. He needed to explore. He needed to stretch his wings so that she could clip them properly.

Bringing order? That wasn’t her calling. But her therapy was restoring the strength of his body, knitting together the muscles, and his workouts were making his shoulders broader, arms stronger. It brought him a focus. It could be a full year before he even thought about his research again, and Moira made a note to herself that that would have to suffice. Talon could not push him _too _hard.

Such limitations did not apply to her, however.

When the guards brought him again to her lab, she maintained her distance, waiting until the door closed again and left Siebren before her, alone and nearly naked. He did not hunch or cower, did not hide from her gaze, but he watched, unashamed of his nakedness. She doubted that he’d forgotten her breach of etiquette. Bringing him to orgasm while he was trapped on her lab table—the sight wasn’t one to be discarded quickly. She nodded to herself, orienting herself, and held out a hand to beckon him forward.

“Your latest results are impressive, Sigma.” Yes. Sigma. Not Siebren. He might not be Siebren for a long while. “I would like to take an alternate path in your therapy. Your body has continued to develop. Age itself is no real barrier to my research.” She smiled, watching him carefully set one foot in front of the other, padding toward her on bare feet. His musculature was not clearly defined, not the bulges or ripples of the professional body-builder, but he still held himself with a self-possession she found so interesting. How had his mind splintered and yet left that confidence intact? She mused quietly to herself, waiting as he approached before she reached up to lift his chin.

Yes. A specimen. Improving now, just as Gabriel had done. But Gabriel had been able to follow his own path: he’d tried to dictate her methods. Just like Talon was doing now. But Sigma had never spoken directly to her, never referenced her, even when she bothered to have the Dutch translated. He murmured about wizards and virgins and chimeras in the sky. A personal mythology wrapped in the wrinkles of his brain. He didn’t sound at _all_ like the man de Kuiper, the articles she’d read from Talon’s files. De Kuiper had possessed the confidence of the male scientist, yes, but he wasn’t a lone wolf. He’d enjoyed the support of universities, of research groups. It was a personality Moira disliked, especially in men.

Unbidden, the thought of Angela rose in her brain, and Moira disdainfully sent the thought scurrying. Just because Angela had accepted organized support didn’t mean her research was _useless_. Just limited. But Moira and Sigma—they were free of such limitations now. Moira thought for a long moment, pleased by Sigma’s steady, even breathing and lack of responses.

“Good. You wait.” She nodded her approval, allowing a sharp grin. Sigma’s eyes hadn’t left her face, and she noted that they were the soft periwinkle of a summer storm. At least the ones she’d seen in America: storms back home were darker, angrier things. She kept her fingers on his chin, pondering the best move, then stepped backwards to remove her lab coat. A symbol, that. It marked her place in Talon. But removing it allowed her to revel in the dark satin of her blouse, the darker pants she’d chosen for the day, and she watched Sigma as his eyes followed the lab coat to the floor, then snapped back to her face. What a curious expression. Curious. Open. Yet focused.

The Talon request had indicated a need for ‘control’. _De Kuiper is a formidable force if he can be harnessed to our aims. Fit his harness_. As if he was a piece of cattle. Sure, her own work did not require much more of him, but she never forgot the man’s _humanity_. She had her own aims, which focused on the man’s full being instead of merely his accidental gift. Speaking of—

“I’ve kept track of your work. Your training.” She amended quickly. She didn’t want him thinking about his research. Doctor de Kuiper…no. Not yet. He was still Sigma. “Your strength is returning, but you possess many talents.” She would not be jealous. But that greed was close at hand. “Strength is merely one facet of a being.” She moved around him, finding the table beside them, then lifted a pen and tossed it toward him. He caught it easily, brow furrowing, and she pointed upwards to the ceiling. “Put it back without moving.”

That furrow in his brow grew deeper, more intense, and she could feel his concentration as a physical force—before suddenly, with a skidding, she was being pulled backwards, the entire world wobbling as Sigma tried to move the pen from his hand. She felt herself falling, tumbling toward the wall, but she put out a hand and caught herself as she shouted, “Stop!”

In an instant, the world was back to normal, and he looked to her with eyes wide again as she caught her breath. She hated that feeling. Helplessness. She was out of breath, the first disorientation that lead to sickness making her wobble, but she straightened and adopted her sternest expression. She was _disappointed_. Sigma’s eyes wandered, looking away from her, sliding to the wall, lifting to the ceiling, seeing something not quite there—

“_Sigma_.” She snapped, striding toward him. “This is exactly what I mean. All that strength and no direction? What good are you?”

He recoiled, dropping the pen as he stepped back, but she reached forward more quickly to grab his chin again. He didn’t pull away, but his body still tried to flee, moving away from hers so that his body formed a long curve. There was a new fear, something clouding his gaze, and she held him in place for a long moment before releasing him with a sigh.

“We will need to add this to your routine.” She nodded, bending down to pick up the pen. Again, she tossed it to him, and he caught it in a hand before opening his palm, allowing the pen to hover there in front of him. Her expression did not change, refusing to admit her admiration, but she noted how his focus had shifted. Divided, between her and the pen.

“Better.” She admitted grudgingly, standing a pace away. “Look at me.” He did, eyes returning to her, and the pen wavered, flipping in place before sliding in a wobbly curve towards the ceiling. She said nothing, did nothing, and he scrambled to recover, hands grabbing at nothingness as he looked up at the ceiling tiles and focused even harder. Her lab shook, tables and monitors lifting from the ground with a new pull, and suddenly she felt herself slammed down again as he finally managed to get the pen back to earth. However, the flicker of joy she noted on his expression was extinguished by his fear again, her anger at being made _uncomfortable_ tampering his thrill.

“It is an instinct. But instincts can be trained.” She’d had to do it herself. She knew the difficulty. She shared that with Gabriel now, that shakiness in one’s very cells, the few talents that made them more than human. She, at least, was the one Talon member that could be assured of controlling her own changes. “Will you be able to focus when dealing with more than one object? When distracted or upset? Every possible reaction must be understood and factored into our understanding. That is my role.” In a loose sense. She shrugged off the redefinition, approaching him again to cup his face with both hands.

“What I need from you, Sigma, is to _listen_.” With that order, his attention refocused, eyes returning to her, pupils dilating. Good. “You need to monitor your own body. Listen to the heartbeats. Find the rhythm that sits inside you.” He gasped at that, trying to pull away, but her grip was unforgiving. What had she said? What word? What else was he hearing that conflicted with her directions?

“I would prefer not to use the restraints. I will make my observations manually.” She tutted, releasing him, stepping backwards to pull her blouse over her head. Again, Sigma’s attention wavered, but she was pleased this time to watch him glance down just briefly before looking back to her face. “Better. We are going to practice a specific skill today, Sigma. This is to determine your progress.” As she spoke, she undid the clasp of her pants, stepping out one leg at a time to let her clothing sit atop her lab coat on the floor. She now matched Sigma, both of them in clean white underthings, but she continued further to unhook her bra and drop it on the pile she’d started.

“I would like to teach you to attend.” A good word, that. She stepped out of her panties last, trying not to glance at the dusting of freckles that speckled her arms and legs, stark against the pristine cleanliness of her lab. Sighing, she straightened, pleased to see Sigma still in place though fidgeting now from foot to foot. “Come closer.”

Sigma rushed toward her, his arms rising, but she reached out to prevent him from doing too much and pushed his hands down to his side. “Kneel, Sigma.” At once, he dropped to his knees, eyes locked onto her face as she placed her hands now on his shoulders. So obedient! He was already prepared, following the reward she’d dangled in front of him.

“This is a privilege I have granted you.” She nodded slowly, lifting her hands to leave him in place. He knelt, eyes shining, and she smiled. “Good boy.”

At that, he whimpered, his spine curving slightly as he tried to hunch down, but she lifted him back up by his chin. Her voice tutted again, soothing and chastising him, and she pulled his chin to her abdomen to feel the heat of his body. “Your hands are exactly where they should be. They should be at your side unless explicitly ordered otherwise. When we do your practice, then you will need to react. But when we are…when I am giving your instructions: hands should be down.”

Sigma nodded, his eyes large and liquid. She could stare at those forever, the variations in color, the few flickers of distraction. She would never be able to correct those entirely. “Now that we know this: I will order you to ‘attend’. Attend, Sigma. Stand.” He stood again, lifting himself until he was in front of her, their breath mingling. He was _taller_ than her. A rare pleasure, and one that Moira found herself enjoying almost too much. She needed to be firm.

“I will allow you to chose which aspect you wish to attend to first.” She nodded, placing a hand on his chest. His heart was racing, though they had done so little—they both waited, Sigma warring with himself, but finally he lifted both hands to cover her breasts and partially circle her torso. Moira lifted herself into the touch, nipples peaking under the attention, but she resisted the sigh that rose in her throat. His hands were just as broad as the rest of him, but careful, grasping without pressing too hard.

“Good!” Her voice rose, almost chirpy in its approval. Sigma groaned, quivering before her, and she lifted her hands to trace a large circle across his chest. “You know what ‘attend’ is. It is simple. I do not seek complication. Isn’t it easier, Sigma? Listening, instead of thinking?” She nodded, hands rising to the cords of his neck, listening to the groan hovering in his chest.

“Heartbeats are simple. Your heartbeat is strong. Getting stronger.” Her hands came up to his ears, circling around those sensitive features, leaning closer to absorb his heat. “Attend lower, Sigma.”

He whimpered, eyelids fluttering, but he did as she ordered. Those huge hands lowered, finding her hips, grasping her buttocks to pull her closer. As he dragged her, she could feel the hot pressure of his erection against her legs, and she used her arms to leverage herself closer. “_Good_. Good boy. You attend well.”

Another desperate whine prompted him to turn his head, hiding against the shock of her hair, and she held herself close to him to feel his need. But he did not thrust, did not lift her higher. He merely grasped, holding her. _Attending_. His attention was what she had ordered, and so he complied.

“Do you think you deserve a little something? A small reward?” She shook her head, lifting a leg to wrap around his hips. “This is not a reward. You have made a great deal of noise—this is something we will need to improve.” Even as she spoke, she lifted herself, pulling herself up so that she could wrap around him, legs and arms keeping her close. He still could not face her, face hidden, but his hands kept her centered. That, at least, was pleasing.

“You will be mine.” She murmured, feeling his cock twitch, humming her delight as he simultaneously quivered beneath her and yet held her steady. She had imagined this, but hadn’t quite realized his full strength: he could manage this, at least for as long as it took. He would manage it for her. “Darling. You may touch yourself. This can be a gift, today. Expose yourself.” She hadn’t spoken like this, hadn’t addressed a man like this…for some time. She held on tighter, feeling him shift against her, and was pleased to feel the heat of his erection, once freed, against the curve of her buttocks. He was still trying to do all this, to follow her, but it wasn’t _enough_.

She wriggled her hips, feeling him gasp, and grinned to herself as she whispered against his ear. “Do you think I would have you go so far? No, sweet boy. This time we will not go that far. Attend to me here, and I will take my pleasure. You will need to be strong for me.” He groaned, holding her again, and she lowered a hand to reach between them and find his cock, guiding it between their bodies to rub it against her dampened folds. _Fuck_. She bit her lip, holding back her own moan. It wouldn’t do to give him that.

Instead of speaking, she ground against him, trapping his cock between them to feel him pull her in. It was different, yes, but she could feel him better this way: the full length of him, the head peaking between her legs, the shaft rubbing slowly and _tortuously_ against her sensitive clit. Her hips took charge of the movement, sliding gently up and down to stimulate them both, and she shuddered with pleasure as he tried to resist his own reactions.

“Good boy.” She cooed, feeling the trembling in his hands. She hadn’t practiced this position with him, ever, but she _trusted_ him. She knew that if he disappointed her, he would have to make reparations. He would repay her, one way or another. Her hips lifted, rose and fell, her arms braced around his shoulders, and she allowed him to hide against her as she teased herself. Near but not inside her, hot and thick—she exhaled against his neck, grappling him as she increased her speed.

“_Good_.” She emphasized again, feeling his hands gripping her. Tight, tighter—soon enough. Soon enough he would leave bruises on her. They had so much work to do, so much practice, so many ways to train him up and make him _beautiful_, and he would follow. She closed her eyes, adjusting the angle of her hips, swirling in a tight circle to feel him against all of her. Muscles involuntarily clenched, her body tensing, and she lifted herself high before feeling his hand suddenly against her, thumbing at her clit, spreading her sticky wetness and rubbing even more intently before she was crushed by her own orgasm, overwhelming and _warm_. She keened, hiding against him, her muscles clenching at nothingness as his hand worked. She tried to find her words, to reclaim her voice, but it took several seconds, legs shaking, before she could hiss, “_Attend_, Sigma.”

Immediately, he returned his hand to her buttocks, allowing her to grind against his cock once more, and she pushed her hips to his to gain his attention. He moaned, a wavering sound that filled her ears, and she bared her teeth as she grunted with the exertion. He’d moved his hand, disobeyed—but it was more important now that he finish, that he earn his first reward. She ensured that he was still between her folds, sliding up and down, and clenched her legs, finally regaining sensation in her limbs to tighten her body.

His orgasm was a trembling thing, his voice so loud and breath so warm against her neck, but she lifted herself high to feel his cock twitch with his release. He was big, she was realizing, so big and warm and he’d _waited_ for her. Had she done that? Had he managed to control himself that much? She nodded to herself, hands tracing across the nape of his neck, and she waited until he exhausted himself in his trembling and whimpering. Slowly, she lowered her legs, his hands still clasping her hips, and she lowered herself down before leaning back. He tried to follow, but she pushed him back, widening the distance between them in order to escape his grip.

Moira paused only to glance down at herself, quietly pleased by the mess of his semen against her abdomen. Sigma followed her glance, inhaling shakily, and she tutted softly to trace a finger through the mess. “What a messy boy, Sigma.” Almost immediately, Sigma moved to kneel, his movements confused and fumbled, and Moira fixed him with a harsher glare to push him back up and keep him in place. “Did I give you a command? No. Listen, sweet boy, instead of assuming.” Slowly, Sigma nodded, staying put as she continued to back away. He was so flushed: body reddened, blotches of red where she had gripped him, boxers pulled down around his thighs. His cock hung between his legs, and Moira did her best not to stare. There would be time for examinations later.

Finally, gathering her thoughts, Moira turned away to reclaim her clothing. A moderately productive session, in her eyes. She held her clothes before her, glancing at him, and finally gestured for him to fix his boxers. “Regain your dignity, Sigma. There is work still to do.” She nodded, pleased as he finally moved to follow, and she carefully began replacing her own clothes as he shuffled again. So easy to return to this—the distance between them, his yearning almost tangible, and yet the easy confidence that they had _shared_ something. Moira nodded, ignoring the scent of musk and sweat that clung to both of them, and pointed back to the table to indicate that Sigma should follow.

“Now. I have a few ideas I’d like to try. Sit still—this might prick a bit…”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira is fortunate no one looks closely enough to ask her where her bruises come from.

Talon might have been belligerent. Overly bellicose. Annoyingly insightful and all too arrogant for their own good.

It might have been why Moira fit in so well with the organization, in the end.

But the rush of battle was not her place, not really. She was a researcher, and her work had practical applications, but the intensity of life-or-death decisions…it demanded too much. Even so, watching her counterparts at work, seeing Gabriel and Akande and Sigma moving in unison, that did inspire her. The movement of human bodies, particularly those twisted by accidents of nature, revealed the great design. In the midst of battle, the team was joined by something greater than instinct or training, each piece becoming something _more_.

Moira was no sentimentalist. She held no great spiritual beliefs. But there was the freedom in combat that allowed for even greater exploration, beyond the looseness of artificial drugs or alcohol. It was a part of herself she never fully confronted, and yet fully within her at all times.

The division of self had never concerned her before Sigma. But his fractured nature, the distraction and focus that was so impossible to attain, had forced her to recognize it more often. She wished she could watch him in battle, instead of just reading the data.

That was why she was here, this time. She’d been sent to ‘read the data’. An early test for Sigma, certainly, a minor incursion into a local gang warehouse. Talon hated to dirty its hands with such things, but they certainly had no qualms about sending Sigma out into something like that. Ridiculous. He’d trained with Gabriel and Akande, practicing form and movement and maneuver, and even Widowmaker had remarked on his agility. Strong and lithe. Well, Moira _knew_ all that. She’d known it for some time.

Watching him in the suit was disappointing, however. His form was hidden by the bulky pieces of armor, braced around him to generate the shield, and Moira regretted the addition. It made his fighting seem formulaic, less organic and real than his true abilities. He was nearly tackled by someone from his side, his form wavering uncertainly, and Moira decided she’d had enough. No one was going to endanger her specimen like this. Not without some safeguards.

Slipping between the boards that tried to cover the warehouse window, Moira shifted her pack on her back and left her reader on the ground, preparing to leap into the fray. There were men facing Sigma, trying to hem him in against the wall, but Moira noted that there were also Omnics in the mix, making her task more difficult. She’d brought her pack, yes, but it wasn’t fully charged, and it wouldn’t be able to protect her properly. Even so, she tightened the straps and braced herself for the plunge.

The impacts came before she could allow herself to react, and she gritted her teeth as someone pushed her to the ground. Tumbling, she grabbed at the nearest set of legs, hauling herself up again to start draining the energy from the man’s very cells. He squirmed, but she did not let go, braced against the other blows as men tried to find cover or make a rush for Sigma.

“Ah—die melodie—” She could hear him, just barely, muffled under his helmet, but his inability to respond was concerning. She didn’t know what he could do, what he might do. Men and Omnics rushed him, hanging on his arms before falling before one of his lifted projectiles. His control was uncertain, his abilities strange, but he would only go down occasionally before regaining control of himself. She could see how he tried to adjust and lift into the air, gravity wobbling, and his suit helped him resist most of the blows, but the larger rounds were thudding against him with greater accuracy each time. Omnic arms reached for him, moving with inhuman speed and strength, but Moira redirected her energies to pull out the sparks of energy between each circuit. It was hard, detailed work, but with her inclusion, the tide of the fight began to change. She faded in between men, dancing through the brawl, though Sigma’s projectiles often caught her in her side or whizzed above her head.

Sigma’s concentration was a mystery to her. She tried to stay out of his way, but she couldn’t tell where his focus was aimed at any given moment. One by one, she took down the stragglers on the outside of the group, but slowly and surely, the gravity around them was beginning to grow unstable. Men tried to run and ended up floating, while Moira herself was almost swimming through the air to reach her next victim. Sigma slammed pieces of wood and metal against the group facing him, creating a maelstrom of junk and detritus.

“Nee, nee! Wat is—het heelal!” Sigma’s head jerked, his hands reaching in front of him, the gravity suddenly yanking the group upwards. Moira flailed, battered by bodies and limbs as they all tumbled together, and she watched carefully as Sigma arched back and screeched.

“Het zingt!” Sigma’s fist clenched, and Moira felt as if her stomach was being yanked through her skull. Everything changed and shifted, gravity tearing at them, and Moira finally pulled on her abilities to dissolve into a cloud of mist. Her dive was a looping thing, but it took her out of Sigma’s reach, and she fell to the real ground once more as Sigma curled himself into a ball. Around him, bodies slammed to the ground again, shuddering with the impact, and Moira scrambled to her feet to begin ‘finishing’ the job.

Dispatching the few survivors was easy enough, but Moira focused only on getting enough energy to restore Sigma’s own health to a manageable level. It was tricky, dividing her attention that way, but she’d done it before. As he recovered, Sigma tried to assist, wrangling things from the ground or dragging bodies with a new change in gravity.

_What a mess_. Moira thought to herself, sighing at the inefficiency of it all. Talon was so eager to play with their new toy that they’d sent him out with nothing more than his ‘abilities’, well. She was glad she was here to help, at least.

She wondered if there was anyone else meant to be monitoring the situation—anyone besides her. And if so, did they plan to do anything about her interference?

A problem for another day. For now, she had a specimen to care for. And it looked like they would have a victory to celebrate.

++

Peeling off the armor wasn’t as difficult as she’d imagined, but Sigma kept hissing and yelping as she poked him. The larger cuts and wounds were shallow, easily repaired by her attention, but Moira realized as they’d returned to the base that her own body had sustained a fair bit of damage. Welts and bruises could be felt along her legs and side, and as she tried to devote her attention to Sigma’s issues, she kept finding more of her own.

“Hold still.” She muttered, drawing his head forward so that she could study a mark on his back. Not bleeding, fortunately, just bruised. Still, it was nasty enough to warrant her attention. “You know, I don’t think they wanted to kill you.”

“Nn.” He tried to pull away, shaking his head. “It still hurt.”

“Don’t be such a child. That’s why I’m here.” She tried to treat him as she treated all of her patients: a task to be endured, a challenge to be overcome. He was her specimen, yes, but only so long as Talon allowed it. Even so, to do her work, she found herself climbing over him, trying to examine him without adding pressure to his limbs or torso. “It will get worse, you know. Real soldiers, with real guns. Not just these…knockout rounds, or pellet guns.”

“I have you.” Well, he’d warmed up to that idea quickly. Moira tensed as he moved, but glanced down to find him grabbing her calf, his head lolling slightly as he avoided eye contact.

“Sigma.”

Immediately, he released her, but she lowered herself to face him, cupping his chin with her hands. “Sigma, it’s okay. You surprised me.”

He took a deep breath, shuddering with the inhalation, and he closed his eyes to lean back. For his sake, Moira winced, recognizing the extent of his bruising, and tried to move away to relieve the pressure on her own contusions. They’d really been through the wringer on this one, and not all of it would heal easily.

“I’m glad you’re alive.” She said more softly, letting a hand wander to the collar of his suit. Talon still insisted on putting him in these damn institutional jumpers—she shook her head, pushing him back to begin undoing the fastenings.

“Doctor?”

“I’ve checked your torso as best I can, but I need to do this properly.” She insisted, tugging on the fabric to work it down off his shoulders. Sigma did his best to accommodate her, eyes wide with curiosity, and she finally pulled him up to have him stand as she stripped him down to his boxers. Against his pale skin, bruises and tiny cuts stood out like dark storm clouds, and she curled her lip in displeasure. They’d really just sent him out and hadn’t given him any protection?

“You’re bleeding.” His voice interrupted her thoughts, and she blinked as he reached for her again. He was doing that more, gaining some level of confidence the more time they spent together. However, she couldn’t complain—she didn’t stop him, tilting her head forward as he brushed the hair at the back of her neck with one careful hand. “Ah. It dried. You’re—”

“Tells you something when no one else could bother mentioning it.” Moira smirked to herself, reaching up to use him as a support as a pain ached on her hip. “Damn.”

“Mijn toven—” Sigma hesitated, watching her move as Moira began to undo her own suit, and it was a long moment of silence before Moira felt herself lifting slowly into the air. His control was still imperfect, but Sigma had a smile on his face, prompting Moira to reach out and grab onto his shoulders.

“I’m working.” She grumbled, only to feel Sigma lifting toward her.

“You know, I think I like the fighting. You get intense when you fight.” Sigma purred to her, launching himself upwards to suddenly grab at her and pull her against him. They were tilting horizontally, leaving the safety of the ground below, but Moira recognized the quickening of her heartbeat as Sigma’s hands fumbled at her suit. There had been a beauty in fighting together—in watching his movements, predicting his actions, following his lead to take advantage of the changes. It forced her to find new patterns, new rhythms, matching him with her own abilities.

Now she was matching him in new ways, countering his roaming hands by clambering atop him again, pressing her lips against his neck to bite gently on the warm flesh there. He groaned beneath her, body warm and full of life, and his hands continued working, continued moving. Patient wellbeing be damned—Moira matched him with a low groan, nails digging into his shoulders as she bit and sucked at his skin.

When he pressed her to the wall, she jerked backwards in surprise, her bruises reignited by the impact. Sigma held her in place, one hand gripping her hip hard enough to leave bruises of its own, and she angled herself toward him as she met his gaze. Like diamonds, now, clear-cut crystals, his eyes glittering with a focus she’d so rarely seen. Today would not be a day about control. She would not need to play her little games with him. They had _survived_, and that was enough.

“Fuck me, Sigma.” Still, a girl should at least _ask_. Moira laughed as Sigma growled to her, his hands tearing at her underclothes, and she shimmied once to help him drop the items to the ground far below. Her body matched his, mottled with bruises, but she’d managed to dodge more of her opponents—now it was up to Sigma to complete the task. She wondered, briefly, if he would manage to find a way forward, but his fingers deftly slid between her legs, rising to tease at her folds and prompting her to smile again. She’d already nearly stripped him, but she mimicked his movements to tug at his boxers, grinning at the sight of his visible reaction.

His kiss surprised her, crushing her back against the wall, and she felt herself lifted into his arms as he pressed his lips to hers. They matched each other beat for beat, biting and sucking gently, hands grasping as they were lifted together. Moira tensed as Sigma ground his hips against her, prompting a pleased shiver, but there was a moment of fumbling as he finally discarded his boxers and pressed his erection between her legs. Moira pulled away from their kiss to bite again at his neck, nodding eagerly to encourage him forward as he finally pressed into her.

He was slow, so torturously slow, but his hips jerked with new force as he held her. The jerkiness made an old bruise complain again, but Moira hid the whimper in a low coo of pleasure, legs wrapped around his waist to pull him deeper again. Nails traced over Sigma’s shoulders, tensing each time he withdrew, but her grip tore at him as he found a new rhythm, just on the edge of pain.

She tried to encourage him, or to curse—she wasn’t sure which—but the noise came out as a twisted groan, spiking up into a keen of satisfaction as he thrust. His hands and his abilities, the gravity and his own weight and his own strength, all these pressed into her, pushing at her body, transforming her from a mere mortal into this being of nerve endings and sensation. Moira bit down to muffle herself, burying her head against Sigma’s neck, one hand creeping up to trace over the nape of his neck. He groaned for her, his body rumbling with the sound, and she shuddered as he altered his angle and thrust home again. They could be upside down or right side up, she didn’t know, but beyond that, she didn’t much _care_ anymore. She’d fought beside Sigma and brought him back here, patched him up just enough to tear him apart at her own hands. One couldn’t ask for more.

When she came, she clenched hard around him, throwing her head back hard enough to feel her vision speckle. The sensation of pain came second to the shock of pleasure that tore through her, pinging from each point of contact before rising in an extended, rising cry. Thoughts blurred, ideas bled away into mere impressions of sight and sound, and she grinned as she pulled Sigma to her, keeping him trapped inside.

His own orgasm was easy enough to sense, his breaths quiet and whimpering as he scrambled to hide against her. Moira spread out against the wall, forcing him to experience _all _of her, and Sigma bit his lip hard enough to draw blood as he jerked and stuttered his way to completion. His kiss dragged the harsh metallic taste of blood over her lips, but she did not pull away—her hands and lips still pulled at him, refusing to let go. It was only when he’d finally caught his breath, lifting himself above her, that she managed to make proper eye contact with him again, lifting her hands to squeeze her breasts.

“It isn’t every day that I manage to find a patient with such receptive reflexes.” She purred, back arching to lift herself toward him. In his post-orgasm rush, Sigma’s skin was red with exertion, his earlier focus blurring slightly as he stared at her chest, then looked back to her face.

“I—”

“You did _wonderfully_, Sigma.” Moira relaxed, reaching up to pat his cheek gently. “Just be careful about getting us _down_. I’d hate to end up like those poor boys in the warehouse.”

Sigma’s brow furrowed, his concentration divided as he extracted himself from between her legs, but Moira was pleased to find that he still reached for her, scooped her into his arms to lower them to the ground together. She could imagine it now, being held as he escorted them off the battlefield, or his body shielding hers as she attended to another teammate. What a partnership. What_ potential_.

“You seem distracted.” She noted as they returned to the ground, her easy grin fading. As they stood again, she resumed her grip on his shoulders, tugging him forward to face her. “Sigma. Don’t waste your time thinking too hard about it.”

“What?” He shook his head, returning to her gaze. “No, no, I—It’s. The song. The singing.” His eyes slid away from her again, wandering to the wall. Moira hesitated, recognizing now a familiar theme in his distraction, and sighed to herself. It would always be a question of sharing him—with Talon, or with his own mind, it didn’t matter which. Still, she withdrew reluctantly, finding her clothes to tug them back over her body as she tried to reconcile the events of the past twelve hours.

“Tovenaar.” That smooth voice interrupted her, a hand finding her waist, and Moira straightened to find Sigma pulling her close again. “You—you rescued me! You were there.”

“Yes, Sigma. I was there.” She nodded, unsure of where his thoughts led. Was it true that men could be led so easily by sex? Was he so simply distracted? It didn’t match the Sigma she’d known before—

“You were wonderful.” Unprompted, he leaned forward to nestle into her hair, kissing her temple before pulling away. He was a mess of contradictions: naked, blotchy with bruises, legs sticky with their mingled fluids. His brain, a spaghetti mess of lucidity and inhuman power; his body, a specimen beyond her expectations. And yet he could stand there and call her _wonderful_. Moira stared, blinking in surprise, then settled for an easy smile. As Sigma dressed himself, she shrugged, poking at a new bruise on her hip. From the fight, or from Sigma’s…she shook her head, ignoring the question.

With any luck, Talon would find a use for Sigma on the field soon. She couldn’t wait to see what he could do—and what the aftermath might bring.


	4. Chapter 4

Going on a mission always unsettled Moira. She went by a codename for a majority of operations, of course, and it was easier to ‘pretend’ when she was being ‘Eagle Five’ or ‘Homemaker’ or ‘Lattice’ or ‘Crane’. Those were all Gabriel’s doing. He so adored the pretense of a mission. It focused him, honed him, kept him sharp. Widowmaker and Sombra shared a refined disdain for the practicalities of a mission, to the point where conversation was limited, and it was only Doomfist who attempted a modicum of geniality in the moments before deployment. Akande was a strong personality, strong enough to retain his dignity and his manners even when under pressure, and Moira appreciated his attempts.

The addition of Sigma had made them all wary. Widow and Sombra were safe, they felt, at a distance from this man no one could trust. But Moira, Gabriel, and Akande were all at close range, leaving them vulnerable should he start to weaken. He’d gone on test missions before, yes. He’d practiced with Reaper and Doomfist alike, toying with the new features Talon had developed for him. The suit he wore kept him stable, and intensified his reaction to Moira’s treatments, making it easier for her to monitor him. She did not want to think too hard about what else might be hidden in that suit of his, any fail safes in case his eccentricities grew uncontrollable. But he moved easily, remained in position until called, and provided adequate support as Reaper—as always—inserted himself too heavily in a conflict. Moira fulfilled her role as medic, covering their backs, always watching for that tell-tale bead of light that indicated Widow’s watchful eye, and overall, they found a measure of success.

There was a difficult moment when Sigma lost concentration, the gravity of the room swirling around them, and Reaper started shouting. His voice was so rough and deep that his shouts were desperate things, and Moira gritted her teeth. But Reaper had never commanded a man like Sigma. His shouting had little effect until Moira opened her comm, speaking softly into the microphone. “Sigma. Shield.”

He’d shaken himself out of his stupor, bracing against another onslaught of fire, and Moira was grateful that there was nothing more complicated than bullets. Fire, or gas, would have been difficult for any of them to accommodate. They’d gotten out alive, with Moira still tending to Reaper, and they’d returned to Talon’s base before being redirected to one of the more ‘public’ areas of Talon operations. Maxmilien was waiting for them, touching his cuffs delicately as if fiddling with a cufflink, and Moira watched warily as their bedraggled group moved forward. Reaper was still limping faintly, but Doomfist led them forward. Even so, it was impossible to hide Sigma behind Doomfist’s form, and Moira waited tensely as Maxmilien studied them each in turn. The Omnic’s gaze was always somehow judgmental, no matter the circumstances, and Moira watched as Maxmilien finally nodded.

“So. Our new acquisition is proving himself.”

Doomfist nodded, preparing to speak, but Maxmilien continued. “Doctor O’Deorain. Your work on him is impressive. Surely his successes should be counted as your own.”

“I have only improved what was already present.” Moira did not move, mimicking Maxmilien’s stillness. This seemed to amuse the Talon agent, his head angling to replace the human facial expressions he lacked.

“A unique acquisition. You’ve done as we needed, Doctor. A shame that his research—“

“He fulfills a role on the battlefield now.” Moira spoke more harshly, her tone sharp. “His research is secondary.”

“Still. You cannot fault me for trying to be practical.” Maxmilien spread his arms, every bit the banker. “Talon needs Sigma, as broken and imperfect as he comes.”

Sigma twitched, his bulk shifting behind Doomfist, and Moira could see how the others backed away. Maxmilien watched with amusement, raising a hand to his chin. “Ah. Not all is well in the state of Denmark.”

“He’s Dutch.” Moira replied flatly, still watching Sigma’s reactions. She hadn’t thought he would react to childish taunts, but perhaps he’d unfolded another crease of his personality since…she made those assumptions.

“The poor prince Hamlet was a powerful foe. Unfortunately, his father-in-law to be learned that to his peril.” Maxmilien nodded. “I do hope, dear Ophelia, that you will not be returning to find bodies piled up behind the curtains.”

Moira scowled, but this time, Doomfist spoke for her, his baritone deep and sonorous. “We do not need to deal in assumptions and insinuations. Sigma is performing as required.”

“I am encouraging caution, Akande. We are not in a position to be reckless.”

As if proving Maxmilien’s point, Sigma lurched, the group stumbling with him as gravity tugged them forward. Maxmilien seemed to start, though his composure never faltered fully, and Moira reached out to grasp Sigma’s arm before inhaling. “Sigma. Down.”

Following her direction, Sigma focused on the floor, leaving the pressure of gravity to subside and relax. Moira could feel Reaper staring at her, burning a hole in her back with his glare, but she refused to turn around and instead watched Maxmilien. The bastard.

“We have left his training in your hands.” The Omnic stated, tone growing harder. “But he remains a Talon asset.”

“I haven’t forgotten.” Moira waited, expecting more back-handed remarks, but when Maxmilien seemed content to stare, she brushed off her uniform and turned to go. “If you don’t trust me, then feel free to take on his training yourself. But if you want him to be of any use, then let me work.” Ignoring the stares of the group, Moira retreated back to the underground sections of the Talon base, punching in the codes to take her back to her lab.

Missions always unsettled her. If she was going alone, she would have been fine. Fighting alongside Sigma, watching his distraction flicker in and out, offering her orders without betraying the depth of her investment—it was difficult. And then Maxmilien’s insinuations—

That was the only problem with working in secrecy. You couldn’t believe anything anyone said. It made Sigma’s silence so much more precious, his few lucid conversations all the more interesting. She returned to her lab in order to strip off her uniform, dressing in an old set of clothes to try and start compiling the data from Sigma’s suit. She had work to do. She couldn’t be thinking about Talon’s meaningless concerns.

Perhaps later, she would be able to approach Sigma alone, try and reassure him of their position. She needed to hear about his thoughts from the mission. She needed…

She needed him. Without Talon’s interference. None of their orders or restraints. Just her own, tailor made for him.

She hoped he would know to find her soon.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is getting out of hand.

Gabriel liked to pretend that he had everything under control. Moira knew this about him, had known it for years. The man was a pompous ass who concealed his arrogance under an air of stoicism. Such ridiculous masculinity. Moira O’Deorain had little patience for military posturing, even if they were the ones keeping her housed and fed, and she embraced the unstable nature of the world. Only through embracing the uncertainty could she find the truths beneath. Even so, when it was the middle of a firefight, she could admit that a bit more of Gabriel’s determination would have reassured her.

“I thought you said Vishkar didn’t keep armed guards!”

“I was wrong.” Gabriel grunted as he tried to cover the hallway, watching Moira from across the passage they guarded. “Where the _hell _is Sigma? He was meant to stay with us!”

“The leash isn’t as tight as you might assume, Reaper.” Moira frowned, bracing herself against the wall. It was true: even with her work and Talon’s mental conditioning, Sigma was still prone to wander at crucial moments, throwing a wrench in Gabriel’s carefully laid plans. Forcing herself to breathe deeply, Moira gathered herself for a jump, crossing the hallway to press a hand against Gabriel’s back. A few moments and she’d checked his vitals, adjusting the pack on her shoulders to top up his reserves. “I’ll find him.”

“You can’t—”

“You need him?”

“No. Not immediately.” Gabriel nodded to the hallway. “Could you focus _here_, first?”

Moira stared at him, then sighed, adjusting the mask that rose up to her chin, then lifted it up over her nose. Talon’s aesthetic was so harsh…but it did help get the job done. She tapped Gabriel twice on the shoulder, then dove forward again, embracing the waver of molecular instability and passing through the bullets that traced down the hallway. She could feel Gabriel following her, his own abilities that mirrored hers, and they emerged in the center of the group facing them to begin their real work. Gabriel had never discarded his shotguns, but Moira was able to use her pack just as she had in the Blackwatch days. This was a bit too close for comfort, and Moira felt the familiar terror that always haunted a mission. Death was Gabriel’s close companion. She was merely its handmaiden, not its friend.

“We need a shield.” Gabriel grunted, gasping with sudden shock as something hit his shoulder. “_Fuck_.”

“Keep moving!” Moira hissed to him, ducking beneath a flailing arm to drain the life from another guard. The crackle of comms told her that there were other operatives moving, that Akande was still in touch, but there was too much going on. She could hear Gabriel again, his shouting as he took down another guard, then she paused to grab his coat and yank him backwards. They fled through a side door, entering a larger room as Gabriel tried to regain his footing.

“Don’t _do _that!”

“We have a direction.” Moira nodded her head, forcing Gabriel to keep up as she moved toward another door. Shots rang from the other side of the door, and Moira forced them through to find Sigma surrounded by combatants, his shields and his abilities keeping him well out of harm.

“Asshole.”

“I think he found our exit ticket.” Moira pointed to the military grade jet sitting in the hangar before them, and Gabriel refused to respond. Without asking, Moira leapt forward to join Sigma’s battle, checking his health while trying to cover his back. His shields adjusted to her easily, and though his mask covered his face during a mission, his body angled to accommodate her addition to his position.

“Ah! Tovenaar!” He greeted her warmly, the sounds of the shots nearly drowning out his voice. Moira couldn’t help but grin, reinvigorated by the word. He was ridiculous, even after everything they’d been through. She tried to keep out of his way, allowing him to pick off the guards one by one, but it was slow going as his aim was often wide. Her comm crackled in her ear, distracting her, and it was only as they were left facing the last few that she realized Gabriel had been separated from them and was facing his own difficulties.

“Reaper—” She winced as someone tried to tackle him, the heavy gear rattling as they tumbled to the ground, and she dashed forward to continue her work. She hadn’t realized the full extent of Gabriel’s injuries earlier, and as she finished off his assailant, she realized his clothing was matted with blood. His healing factor was working hard, yes, but not quickly enough. _Damn_. She tried to tap her pack for more, to restore his exhausted resources, but she was running lower. She could just about manage to synthesize more, to get him back into reasonable shape, but not if they were still fighting off—

“I can’t fly.” Gabriel groaned, nearly shoving Moira away as she tried to staunch his bleeding. “I was here to pilot the jet, once we’d gotten what we needed, Talon knew—”

“Don’t think about it.” She chided him, pushing his hand away. “Let your body work.”

“We don’t have time. There’s more—”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“I can’t _fly _like this!” He shouted at her, making her grip tense against his clothing. She looked up to find Sigma still covering them, his movements lazy and methodical.

“Sigma. The plane.” She jerked her chin towards the jet, watching as Sigma followed the movement. His expression remained hidden, but he nodded once, lowering himself to the ground before moving to the jet and working at the hatch. Moira managed to get Gabriel upright, shuffling him forward in the sudden lull of the hangar, but Sigma reached out as soon as he’d finished his work to lift Gabriel gently through the air into the now-open cockpit. The plane was sleek and streamlined, but built to accommodate a team, and Moira unceremoniously shoved aside a computer bank as she dragged Gabriel into a seat. She tried to think, but Gabriel’s wounds were the greater concern: blood stained her hands, and she could just about feel the writhing of his skin as the heightened healing factor tried to repair him.

“Sigma. Can you cover us in here, at least until—”

“Mm. This mystery, at least, is much more clear.” Sigma interrupted her, facing the instrument panel. Moira tensed, unsure of what he meant, until Gabriel shuddered again and tried to climb out of the seat.

“This isn’t a sustainable position!”

“No. The air will give us more opportunity to explore.” Sigma nodded, folding his arms and legs into the pilot seat before cueing the hatch to close atop them. Moira focused on wrangling Gabriel into his own seat, scrambling for seatbelts and latches and straps to start keeping them in place.

“He’s an idiot. An insane idiot who’s going to get us all killed.”

“Don’t interrupt him.” Moira hissed, pushing Gabriel’s hood down from his face. Skin rippled and twisted all the way up his neck, his body still unsure of the damage dealt, and she checked her pack again for a better reading. Improving—but still desperate. “You can handle the G forces, but you’re going to be woozy. It’s better that you’re not flying.”

“It would be better than that—” Gabriel groaned as the jet suddenly roared to life, the huge engines flaring with a single burst to rock the entire structure. Moira watched, seeing only the back of Sigma’s helmet, and held her breath as the plane suddenly rocketed forward and out of the open hangar door.

“He’s going to burn out the engines.” Gabriel tensed, shuddering again while the plane began to twist and spin in the air. Moira couldn’t see past the hatch, her eyes adjusting to the different light, but she forced herself to focus on Gabriel and start channeling the energy from her pack to his own support system. “We are going to die.”

“Don’t talk like that.” Moira said, forcing down her own uncertainty. “Astronaut, remember? Years of training, had to take the sim tests, probably knows the basics.”

“Probably?”

“The man that he was would have studied all that. He’s our best shot. And he’s going to save your life.” Moira spoke with a new intensity, attention divided between Gabriel and Sigma in their respective seats. After a delicate maneuver, the plane leveled out, wobbling as it soared above the research facility below them. Moira let out her held breath, relaxing into her own space. She was personally surprised by the smoothness of the ride, and by Sigma’s easy handling of the controls. Taking off had been odd, but she was worried about other things at the time. Now with Gabriel under control, his vitals slowly improving, she could marvel at this new facet of Sigma’s ability.

It was several long minutes before she began to think about the details of their journey, the smoothness of the transport, and finally heard the crackle of contact over her comm again. Had it taken so long for Akande to find them? What was he seeing from his end?

“You’re looking better.” She said carefully to Gabriel, nodding to his shoulder. Gabriel offered a shrug, staring at the back of Sigma’s head.

“How are we going to land?”

“Shh. Don’t distract him.”

“_Moira_.”

“Sigma.” Moira said more loudly, watching the other man twitch. “What’s our altitude?”

“Mm. Nearing forty thousand feet.” Sigma’s voice was crisp and clear, though he began humming as he thought. “Wind is good, tonight.”

Gabriel glared at Moira, though she ignored his anger. “What are we doing?”

“He’s focused. When he focuses, he…connects. It’s the noise, the distraction, that makes it more difficult.” She nodded, tightening her restraints. “Let Akande bring us in. Tell him not to interrupt Sigma’s path, at least until we’re in Talon territory. This is something we’ll have to deal with later.”

“Trust me, Doctor O’Deorain. We _will _be dealing with this later.”

Though Gabriel’s tone reminded her that he was all bark and no bite, Moira couldn’t meet his gaze, feeling his uncertainty echoed in her bones. This was new territory for all of them, and trusting Sigma was difficult. They could only wait, and hope.

Hope was such an immaterial support on which to place one’s life.

+++

While the rush of fleeing for one’s life was its own stimulant, Moira had returned to the Talon base to find the pressures of scrutiny even more taxing. The pressure was beginning to close in around her, focused on her activities and her work and her comings and goings, and she resented the heavy hand. They had returned from their mission alive and in one piece, and still Talon was trying to interfere with this development. Sigma had saved them. Somehow, either through his own ability or his knowledge or mere chance, he had been able to _fly a plane_, and Moira felt this was something to be praised.

Talon did not think so. Talon was resistant to her suggestions, keeping their responses curt and defiant. Fortunately, Maxmilien and his supremely punchable Omnic face didn’t bother her, but there was another woman—unnamed, with thick black glasses and pretty lips in a stern frown—who stood in her doorway, watching.

“We are not providing the subject with a flight simulator.”

“He proved that he can do it. You weren’t there. It was amazing, the way it focused him. As his doctor, I am recommending—”

“Recommendations are all you can offer, Doctor O’Deorain. You are not a trained psychologist, and have no insight on his mental state.”

Moira jerked in her seat, turning to watch the other woman. “I have spent full days with this man, ma’am, I think my insight is still valuable.”

“When we provide the subject with certain tasks and he proves…overstimulated, he tends to destroy them. We are not about to risk a flight simulator—the most basic of which run into the tens of thousands of dollars—on the possibility that it might ‘help’ him.”

“You—” Moira thought for a moment, a sick feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. “You’ve been giving him research materials.”

“The stimulation proves too much. For now, his best place for Talon is on the front line. His abilities are too useful.”

“He still has so much recovery to do, so many improvements he could make!”

“He must prove himself first.”

“He’s—” Moira blinked, refusing to give into the emotion constricting her chest. Sigma. _Her_ Sigma. Still just a subject for them, a soldier now so perfectly tailored for their needs, and now that they had what they needed it was easy to ignore their real duty. Moira had never thought herself tied to medical goals, to the wellbeing of her patients, but to simply discard anything that might help….

The man Sigma had been was visible in those rare moments. Those breaks in clarity, in focus, his intelligence and experience coming to bear when most needed. Moira was unable to continue her arguments, shaking her head to turn back to her other research, and was gratified to hear the soft shuffle of footsteps leaving her lab. Talon wouldn’t understand. That wasn’t their role. She’d tried to explain it to them, after the mission, but no one would listen.

That was the problem with military minds. Gabriel was so stuck in his ways…Akande was better, but only slightly. She sighed, resting her head against her hand, and refused to think about Sigma. It was not because she liked him. It was not because she’d trained him, because they shared little moments of intimacy. It couldn’t be that.

To weaken now, to fight with Talon over this, would be the end of her entire mission. Talon had brought her so far. She could not compromise the organization with this.

She couldn’t draw their attention to him, and risk any more scrutiny on the man she’d started to _like_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though they hate to admit it, Talon is forced to acknowledge that Moira is unofficially the designated 'Sigma handler'. The way she chooses to 'handle' him, however, is up to her discretion.

It was not often that Talon operatives could present themselves honestly to the world. Missions, operations, research runs—all these demanded code names and passwords, levels and levels of secrecy. But Talon fundraisers were another avenue altogether, where the rich and powerful of the world’s elite listened to Maximilen’s speeches and fawned over Akande’s easy quips. It was an excuse to show off Moira’s work, Reaper’s abilities, and Widowmaker’s…frigidity. And now, they had a fancy new toy.

As if the idiocy of fancy attire wasn’t enough, Moira resented having to watch Sigma go through his paces, still wearing the full gear of a Talon operative. Akande had insisted—and Gabriel had agreed. They needed to have Sigma looking the part, if anyone was to be convinced of his suitability for the team.

“As if watching him stand there is convincing anyone of anything.” Moira muttered to herself, trying to wait unobtrusively by the drinks table. The alcohol was weak, but it was cold, and she did rather enjoy the feeling of crystal in her hands. It sparkled so prettily…

But through the glass, she could still see Sigma, shifting uncomfortably by the wall as he tried to watch the room. She’d tried to tell them he wasn’t ready, he wasn’t focused enough to handle a large group, but they’d trotted him out anyway. _Show pony. Old dog, new tricks_. Too many unfortunate sayings came to mind. She sighed, emptying her glass, and set it aside to wander forward again. The sound of the string quartet lent the evening a delicate air, lilting with deep wooden tones and fluttering high vibrato. Around her, the understated wealth of their patrons screamed at her, fine silks and delicate diamonds catching the light.

Akande spotted her movement, intercepting her before she reached Sigma. “Doctor.”

“Akande.” Moira purred, her lips curling into a smile. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“It always feels too long between these little outings.” Akande grinned easily, his broad strength keeping him centered like a ship on the sea. “To have others who understand our purpose, it is a beautiful thing.”

“Yes, well. Perhaps if you like making the speeches.”

“Oh, I do. I _do_.” Akande assured her, eyeing her carefully. “I am not going to stand by and let you sneak off with our greatest asset.”

“I thought _I _was your—I’m sorry, _our_ greatest asset.” Moira blinked slowly, enjoying Akande’s suspicion.

“Sigma has potential beyond our wildest dreams.” Akande nodded, looking away to watch the subject in question. “He’s doing fine.”

“He’s stressed.” Moira pointed out, sliding behind Akande to draw closer to the wall. Though Akande did not stop her, he did follow, moving to join her as she approached Sigma. “Sigma? Sigma. Here.”

Like a puppy, Sigma whipped his head to the side to find her, eyes wide with confusion. He said nothing, but Moira sighed all the same, tilting her head to study him. “He looks stressed.”

“He’s been shot at before, Doctor. This is nothing.”

“_This_—” Moira gestured around them, eyebrow raised. “Is not the same. Not everyone grew up at these parties, Akande.”

“Leave him alone.”

“Let me tend to him.”

“Moira—”

“_Sigma_.” Moira cooed, drawing closer to grab Sigma’s shoulder. She couldn’t feel him properly, not under all the layers of armor, but he flinched at her touch, drawing in a hissing breath. Akande couldn’t pull her away now, but he watched them warily, his suit reflecting the natural dignity of his posture.

“Sigma. Find me.” Moira’s voice took its harsher, chiding tone, prompting Sigma to jump and focus on her again. “You’re fine. Yes? You’re fine.”

“The melody.” He murmured, eyes sliding to the floor before jerking back to her face. “Song, the song, it sings—”

“No! No. No songs.” Moira shook her head, feeling Akande’s eyes on them. She might not agree with Akande’s decisions, but she could agree that ‘making a scene’ here would benefit no one. “Sigma, there’s no songs.”

Even as she said it, she could hear the viola swell, a rising note making Sigma shudder. She grabbed both his shoulders, watching his eyes dart around the room. “Mmmm, no, nee, n—het heelal, ze zingt, the music is there but it is _wrong_ and it screams!”

“No.” Moira insisted, trying to make it true. “God, Sigma. It’s not the song, it’s—it’s a different song—”

“_Screams_.” His eyes focused on the ceiling, avoiding her completely. Moira gritted her teeth, feeling Akande’s presence huge and looming beside them, a glass in his hand.

“Problems?”

“_You_ were the one that wanted him here.” Moira hissed, releasing Sigma to watch Akande. “Are you—”

“Make him stop.” Akande interrupted, watching as the liquid in his glass trembled, then lifted into the air, forming a blobby bubble. “Moira—”

“Not the time!”

“Ah, Mr. Ogundimu?” A voice broke in, prompting both Moira and Akande to turn suddenly. As a young woman with piercing dark eyes watched them, Akande deftly tossed his glass to the ground, startling Sigma and prompting the rapid descent of the liquid in the air. “Oh, I, uh—”

“How clumsy.” Akande purred, reaching out to turn the woman away from their group. “My apologies, Miss Wentworth. I hope you’re enjoying the festivities?” As they turned away, Akande looked over his shoulder, glaring at Moira as he moved away. Moira sighed to herself, trying to find the string quartet in the huge ballroom, and considered her options. She couldn’t simply ‘disappear’, not in her usual way. But if the viola—or whatever it was—kept conflicting with Sigma’s music, it wouldn’t do him any favors. And a confused Sigma usually ended with messes on the ceiling. Moira bit her lip, thinking, then dove back into the crowd, avoiding the half-started conversations and questions as she made her way towards the source of the music.

As she found the group of musicians, she tried to organize a script for herself, deciding on the best course of action. However, a chorus of surprised noises near Sigma’s position made her grit her teeth, striding forward in to the midst of the music stands to lift up one of the folios of sheet music.

“I’m sorry?” The violinist lifted an eyebrow, an expression she matched with double the ferocity.

“I need you to stop.” Blunt. To the point. That usually worked, yes?

“We were paid—”

“You can _sit_ here and still get paid, just don’t _play_.” Moira nodded curtly, ignoring the shiver of adrenaline.

“Listen, ma’am, we were paid to play, we come to perform. We take pride in our work!”

“Look.” Moira glanced at the folio in her hand, dropping it suddenly to spill the pages over the floor. “You might have the pieces memorized, Mister Proud-Of-Your-Work, but your employers will hardly appreciate the mess. Clean this up, then you can get back to your _fiddling_.”

“You—” The violinist rose out of his seat, about to barge forward, but Moira merely wiggled her fingers in a wave as the violist and cellist held him back. Dashing back across the ballroom, Moira grabbed Sigma’s hand, dragging him to the door and out into the gardens to hide themselves in the darkness. To her relief, Sigma followed her easily, his focus returning as he left the crowds and emerged into the open air.

“Better?” Moira offered, letting go of Sigma’s hand to turn and face him. Akande hadn’t noticed their disappearance, for now, and Moira let herself relax as Sigma regained his focus. He was so much more handsome, like this. Almost pretty.

“I—Yes, Doctor O’Deorain. Did you do something?”

Moira blinked, her pleased smile fading. _Men!_ As she prepared to speak, Sigma jumped in surprise again, his movements becoming jerkier.

“There are. There are _stars_, Doctor.”

“Yes, Sigma. There are stars.”

“The stars are very _bright_ out here.”

“Yes, Sigma.” Moira backed away carefully, keeping her expression neutral. However—as was her luck—another figure emerged from the darkness, the soft outdoor light catching on wispy gray hair and dark skin.

“Doctor O’Deorain.”

Sigma gasped in surprise, whirling suddenly, losing his balance to nearly fall backwards. Moira reached out quickly to grab Sigma’s shoulder, shoving him down onto a nearby bench before clambering ever-so-delicately into his lap. Just so.

“I’d hoped you weren’t stealing away our prime asset, Doctor.” Gabriel’s tone was gravely and stern, but Moira did not shift, wrapping an arm around Sigma’s neck.

“Sigma wasn’t feeling well. I decided to escort him outside.”

“I noticed.” Gabriel looked at the both of them, his mask removed to display his full disapproval. “Why are you—”

“The pressure can be stressful.” Moira explained slowly, adding a note of sweetness to her voice. “Gently compressing the chest helps to center him.”

“So you’re sitting on him.”

“I don’t see you offering to give him a nice, firm, bear hug.” Moira grinned, lifting her chin to let Sigma hide his face against her neck. Gabriel made a face that she couldn’t quite read, what with the shadows and the darkness, but she tightened her grip to keep Sigma pressed close to her.

“You don’t sit on _my_ lap when I’m feeling stressed.”

“Well, yes, but that’s because _you_ don’t have the ability to compress us all into pancakes just by concentrating hard enough.” Moira cooed, enjoying the expressions cycling through Gabriel’s features. Finally, Gabriel offered a harsh scowl, turning to disappear again into the shadows. Moira relaxed against Sigma’s warmth, shivering as his lips mouthed at the junction of her neck and shoulders. She was privately glad she’d opted for the lower neckline, at Widowmaker’s subtle insistence.

“Sigma?”

“Mm.” He replied, distracted.

“You’re feeling better?”

“_Much_.” He began to move down her shoulder, accepting her gentle redirection. “Did you do something?”

“Don’t worry about what I did. You just sit.” Moira nodded, crossing her legs one over the other to balance in Sigma’s lap. Oh, there was an hour or so left of this little shindig, but they could hide away a while longer. Gabriel would be too embarrassed to tell Akande where they were. And Akande would be too busy schmoozing with the patrons. This would be nice. “I didn’t say stop kissing me, Sigma. Go on.”

As he continued, Moira cooed to him, deciding not to worry about Gabriel or Akande anymore. The world had enough stresses for them to face. She would simply focus on her own priorities for a while longer.


	7. Chapter 7

Moira credited herself with being moderately observant: observant enough, at least, to keep up in the world of Talon’s making, defined by paranoia and self-interest. She knew more about Talon’s internal workings than most, and she still had her work. But Gabriel tended to live on the edge of her observation, hovering at the edge of her knowledge without ever fully intruding. As such, she wasn’t certain of how long he had been standing at the door of her lab when she finally noticed him, her body sagging with fatigue. Gabriel never really showed fatigue, namely because his body seemed fatigued all the time.

The other thing she understood about Talon was that small talk didn’t exist. She and Gabriel didn’t have to deal with pleasantries, and so they merely stared at each other, waiting for several extended heartbeats before Gabriel finally spoke.

“Can Sigma truly crush us all? Is that something he’d do?”

Moira stared at him, her eyebrows betraying her true feelings. She let the silence extend again, realizing that Gabriel had been thinking about this for some time. Musing, meditating on Sigma’s abilities… “He controls gravity. If he wanted to increase it to ten Gs, he could.”

“Yes. I suppose.” Gabriel seemed to hesitate, his shoulders tense. “The idea is. Unnerving.”

“You don’t properly _exist_, Gabriel, that unnerves me.” Moira snapped, watching Gabriel bristle. Ah, right. They didn’t use things like ‘names’ anymore. At least, Gabriel didn’t. As if ‘Reaper’ was a reasonable alternative.

“But he’s—it doesn’t even make sense.”

“The only person to whom it _does_ make sense is down the hall, playing with his bouncy balls.” Moira nodded, leaning back in her chair. “You’re an ex-Marine, or whatever. I didn’t realize you _could_ get scared.”

“I am not _scared_.” Gabriel snarled, advancing.

“Then you’d be an idiot. Sigma is the closest thing humanity has come to creating a deity, and Talon assumes they have a ‘handle’ on him because they gave him deep hypnotic suggestion and programmed him.”

“You don’t agree with them.”

“I don’t agree with their methods. We will never know what his research meant until he recovers properly. They’ve slapped a band-aid on a much bigger problem.”

“So he could snap.”

“Gabriel, this is pointless. Why are you here?”

“I’m trying to determine how close I should be during a mission.”

“You’ll be _fine_. I know him, and he’s not—“

“You tell me he could kill me with a thought, and then you reveal that you’re not confident in his conditioning. I will not be ‘fine’.”

“Sigma knows who you are.” Moira sighed, letting her eyes fall closed. “And as much as I might dislike you, you’re part of the team. You’ll be fine.”

Gabriel was silent again, considering the words. “You don’t fill me with confidence.”

“It’s because we’ve never dealt with a genuinely good man, Gabriel.” Moira kicked her chair back, rolling over the tile. “That’s what Sigma is. He wants to be a good man.”

Gabriel scoffed, nearly turning away. But Moira offered no sarcastic rejoinder, and he reached out to press his hand against a table. “Then he’s a fool.”

“You should listen to him more.” Moira opened her eyes, her head tilted back. “He’s like a child. He watches, and marvels. He sings to the stars.”

“Because something happened to him up there, something that _broke_ him.”

“He isn’t—“ Moira forced down the whine in her throat, the hurt that lay so close to the surface. How could it come so close, now? Sigma was forcing them into too many new situations, all at once. “He’s still in there. That person, that man he was, he’s there.”

“And you truly think he was a good man.”

“He is. He won’t—he’s. It’s _Talon_ that’s making him…”

“When we pulled him out of there, he was raving. We have _saved_ him.”

“You actually believe them. You truly believe that we’re doing something good.”

“We have to.” Gabriel stared at her, drawing away. “Sigma is a means to an end, a better end—“

“And that’s what makes him better than you.” Moira nodded. “Sigma—Doctor De Kuiper, the man he was, he merely wanted to know. And that—It’s who I might have been, once. Talon has forced him to create that new portion, that new personality, that shell of himself that protects him from the reality of what he’s doing. We don’t have that luxury.” Moira kicked out her legs, wishing she could sink into the ground. “We can’t pretend that we’re still good, somewhere.”

“The word doesn’t mean anything, Doctor O’Deorain.”

“It does. To someone.” Moira stood, rising to her full height to escort Gabriel out of her lab. “I suppose I’d just ignored that for a long while.”

Gabriel waved her off, turning to leave the lab and abandon her to the silence again. She watched him go with some resignation, annoyed that he’d taken the conversation in such a direction and that she’d started rambling with such ease. In the end, however, she couldn’t say that she’d lied. She did believe that about Sigma. His innocence, however mangled, was still there. And she didn’t know how to feel about handing that over to Talon each and every day.

She shook her head and left the lab, turning off the light to start moving through the hallways of their compound. She could find other things to do. The work for tomorrow would wait.


End file.
